


Chante pour moi, Apollon

by Opium_du_Peuple



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Tension, Smut, Top Grantaire, is utter veneration a kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opium_du_Peuple/pseuds/Opium_du_Peuple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had had enough of it, he couldn't take it anymore. It had grown, no, it had snuck up on him so stealthily that he had not seen it coming until it was too late. He had thought himself sick and had asked Joly's assistance, but there was nothing the young physician-to-be could do to cure his ailment. Because this was not a sickness of the body but one of the heart.</p><p>After weeks of sexual tension, Enjolras decides to solve the problem in the backroom of the Musain. As Oscar Wilde once said : "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chante pour moi, Apollon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragnar_rock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnar_rock/gifts).



> Hello there!  
> Wow this took so long to write! And for a good reason : it's my first ever smut and I was so so shy about it, you wouldn't even believe it. But eh, it turned out alright in the end. A bit fluffier than expected but what can I say, since this is canon era, let's give the boys a bit of happiness before... well.. everything.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it ;)

Enjolras had had enough of it, he couldn't take it anymore. It had grown, no, it had snuck up on him so stealthily that he had not seen it coming until it was too late. He had thought himself sick and had asked Joly's assistance, but there was nothing the young physician-to-be could do to cure his ailment. Because this was not a sickness of the body but one of the heart.

Conducting an ABC meeting had become more complicated than ever. How could he focus with Grantaire just a few paces away, his whole being calling for him, a siren's song befuddling his senses and reason, luring him to the depths? It had been little things, in the beginning. The way his lips would curl up whenever Bahorel would make a terrible joke, the kind chuckle he'd let out upon hearing Bossuet's latest misadventure, the unruly curl that would always fall and block his sight, over and over again. Then it had been other, more singular things. His smug look of satisfaction when he would argue against him and have a valid point, the nonchalant attitude he had towards every single aspect of his life or even the infuriating nicknames he had given him. If all of these used to make his blood boil in mild anger, Enjolras was now burning with another kind of fever.

Not only that but he was now seeking them out, quarrelling for the sole purpose to see that tantalizing smirk bloom on his lips, rousing something in his core that had remained dormant until then. Never had Enjolras felt this maelstrom of desire before, this perpetual craving to touch and to be touched. He had felt passionate before, for things, concepts, an unconditional lover of liberty and freedom. Passion, he had come to realise, had more than one face. And Grantaire's was one of them.

His concentration was once again put to the test, that evening. He had found it easier to focus if he avoided looking in Grantaire's general direction altogether, trying his best to keep his gaze on Courfeyrac and Combeferre. But Grantaire didn't make things easy for him. When did he ever, for that matter? The ill-concealed whispers he was sharing with Bossuet were hissing in his ears, derailing his train of thought. How was he supposed to keep up with all that noise?!

"Grantaire!" Enjolras scolded, glowering at the two of them now reduced to silence.

And here it was. The decadent, maddeningly enticing smile that confused and haunted him. Right on cue.

"Apologies, your Highness," Grantaire sneered, tilting his head to the side in a pretence of innocence.

There was, however, nothing innocent on Enjolras's mind. He tried to carry on with what he was saying, but it was no use. After a few stammered sentences and unfinished arguments, he gave up and handed over the torch to Combeferre who swiftly closed the meeting. It needs to stop, Enjolras thought. He couldn't keep on doing this. He had better things to do, greater things to accomplish, but as long as Grantaire would linger on his mind, none of those would see the light of day. This annoying obsession was interfering with the cause and needed to be swept away, once and for all.

Everybody had started to tidy the Musain up - putting away the tables and chairs to their rightful place - when Combeferre rested his hand on Enjolras's shoulder, taking him aside.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, clearly concerned by his friend's unusual lack of eloquence.

Enjolras nodded, running a hand in his hair in embarrassement. Great, it hadn't gone as unnoticed as he would have liked it to be.

"I just had a couple of bad nights, nothing to worry about, really," he sighed, flashing a small reassuring smile.

It was only half of the truth, but he could console himself with the fact that he hadn't lied. Not really. His gaze lost itself above Combeferre's shoulder, stealing another look at Grantaire. Enjolras had stolen enough of those to be sentenced to life. He knew each detail, each curve, each patch of his skin by now. What he couldn't see, he had imagined. Grantaire took a gulp of wine directly from the bottle, his head thrown back, his throat offered. The things he would do to that neck. He could almost feel the sweet flesh beneath his lips, the pulse racing against his teeth. His own heartbeat was pounding in his ears, a deafening throbbing covering Combeferre's voice completely.

A drop of wine glistened on the corner of Grantaire's lips and Enjolras knew there was no stopping now.

He excused himself to Combeferre and rushed towards Grantaire. It was an out of body experience; he could feel himself move, hear his shoes hitting the wooden floor but he was no longer master of himself. Grantaire didn't see him coming, too busy helping Feuilly to move a table.

"Grantaire, a word?" he asked curtly, his voice made short by his own audacity.

The latter blinked, bewildered, before rolling his eyes.

"Sure," he let out, half heartedly.

His sigh had not ended that Enjolras grabbed him by the arm, leading him away from the crowd of the ABC. Where to now? He had not planned this, he had not thought his next move through. His thoughts were running through his head too fast for him to act on any of them. Fortunately, what his brain lacked in ideas, his body made up for in instinct. When his eyes fell on the Musain's backroom door, his heart started pounding even harder in his chest and he clasped Grantaire's arm a bit tighter.

There were only two lonely lanterns lighting up the whole room, casting the shadows of piled up chairs, seldom used tables and sideboards filled with food and kitchen supplies. The door slammed behind them, locking the rest of the world away. Only then did Enjolras let go of Grantaire's arm. Set free, the latter frowned, massaging the roughed up skin through his shirt.

"Well?" he asked bluntly.

 Enjolras's throat had gone completely dry, useless. He had asked for a word before, but he fell short of any. What was there to say, anyway? Grantaire's eyes were set ablaze by the flames of the torches, two beacons in the darkness beguiling him to shores he had yet to explore. The sound of his own breathing was thunder to his ears.

"If it's about earlier, we were just _talking_ , alright? Is that still allowed by your rules or do I have to -"

The rest went to die against Enjolras's lips. All this time he had thought kissing Grantaire would quench his thirst for him, like one scratches an itch, but he realised that it only acted like alcohol on a fire. He overwhelmed his sense. How could he have only focused on touch, the times he had envisioned that kiss, when Grantaire was so much more? He tasted of wine and honey, a sweetness that was lingering at the corner of his lips. The drop of wine, Enjolras thought. He had never been one for drinking, but now that he was drunk on someone else's flesh, he could see the appeal.

The loss of Grantaire's warmth felt like a blow to the stomach. Enjolras had lost himself so much into the kiss that he had forgotten to breathe and now his lungs were making up for the lack of air, his shoulders moving up and down. Grantaire was staring at him, his mouth still agape, his lips flushed as though inflamed by Enjolras's. And in spite of the fever that had risen throughout his body, the latter felt an ice cold hand clutching at his heart. The after-effects of his intoxication had already started to settle. What had he been thinking? How could he have even entertained the idea that Grantaire would respond any differently? The latter was as though stunned, trapped in a stupor Enjolras was to blame for. He would have apologized, but the words remained stuck in his throat, living a sour taste behind them.

"I.. I..," Grantaire stammered, his frozen body slowly coming back to life.

His next movement was so quick and unexpected that Enjolras let out a small gasp. Thawed from their trance, his hands flew to his collar, tugging him forward and soon, Grantaire's sweetness swept away the bitter sting. Enjolras felt something explode in his chest, sending chills down his spine and along his limbs. He knew all too well what desire felt like, but feeling desired was a whole new kind of exhilaration. Grantaire's fingers slithered past his collar, exploring his neck, leaving sparks and tingles behind them. The sensation made Enjolras bold enough to pin him against the wall, his body pressed against his in a desperate attempt to bring them closer.

Their kisses weren't tender or innocent like those Bossuet and Musichetta would share. No, they were hungry, famished embraces, as though they had each starved for the other. Enjolras's movements were messy and inexperienced, his hands seeking to touch all of Grantaire at once. They eventually settled on his waist, his fingers venturing under the green waistcoat, stroking his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Never had his mind been this blank before, unable to construct a single coherent thought. The only things that made sense were the sighs against his lips and his own pantings reverberating throughout his whole being. Ever so slightly, his hips took upon themselves to brush against Grantaire's leg, his cock hardening at the touch. But soon, the faint caress ceased to be enough, he needed more, so much more. His back arched on its own, pressing his arousal against the other man's hip and Enjolras broke the kiss in a loud, surprised moan. This was more than he had ever felt, it was almost unbearable how excruciatingly _good_ it was.

Grantaire had recovered his everlasting sly smile, his gaze not losing a single second of the show Enjolras was providing. One of his hands left his neck to settle on the small of his back, guiding his thrusts against his knee. Enjolras strangled another moan, determined not to make a fool of himself.

"Sing for me, Apollo, sing," Grantaire whispered to his ear, lowering his lips to his nape.

Never had Enjolras been so thankful for the Musain's poor lighting, the darkness hiding the deep blush that had crept up his cheeks.

"I've already told you n-not to call me th-that..," he exhaled, trying his best to keep control of his voice.

"Make me," the other teased before nibbling on his bottom lip.

His guidance stopped abruptly, leaving Enjolras with nothing but frustration. The defiant look on Grantaire's face was infuriating, but as it was often the case, terribly arousing. He began to rock his hips back and forth, stroking his already swollen cock against the motionless leg. He went to muffle his shameful moans in the crook of Grantaire' neck and the latter, satisfied, resumed his movements soon after.

The crushing heat became too much to bear, Enjolras's clothes felt like an unnecessary barrier, an obstacle sticking to his now damp skin. His fingers slid over the green waistcoast, looking for buttons to undo. But when his index reached one, the rest of his hand stopped, suddenly frozen. Grantaire must have felt his hesitation for his brow furrowed slightly. Enjolras could feel his shortened breath against his mouth, a mere inch away and yet far too distant to his taste. What if he didn't want to push this any further? What if he was assuming too much? He had literally dragged him here, kissed him and held him against a wall, all of it without asking for permission even once. This time he wanted to be sure, he didn't want to assume, he wanted to _know_. But asking for such a thing was beyond him. How do people get past this kind of logistics, he thought, angry at his own timidity.

But in the end, he needn't ask. Grantaire picked up on his unvoiced struggle and untied the Gordian knot that had settled in his throat. Enjolras's waistcoat came undone beneath clever fingers. His own were shaking, made clumsy with haste. Grantaire gave him a small, reassuring peck while sliding the red garment along his shoulders before getting rid of it completely. The restraint on his ribcage gone, Enjolras made up for the breath Grantaire had stolen away. Breathe, he thought, breathe or you won't keep up.

Waistcoats and shirts hit the floor with a faint ruffle of fabric, but no one was there to hear it as their lips had joined again. Teeth sometimes grazed the pulpy skin, inducing approving groans and retaliations. And the skin - oh the skin. Grantaire's was warm, radiating against his own, incredibly soft to the touch. Enjolras's hands couldn't get enough of it, running over his sides, slipping into the back of his trousers, exploring the flesh underneath. More daring even, his fingers went to stroke the bulge of his cock through the fabric. Enjolras was getting a kick out of Grantaire's raucous sighs, playing with the movements of his wrist to bend the man's hips to his will. There was nothing more empowering than to hear his own name muttered under one's breath.

It took him a few seconds to realise that Grantaire had left the wall, guiding him backwards with his hands on his waist. Enjolras barely felt the table hitting the small of his back - the hands running along his thighs were far too captivating to notice that trivial detail. But it became harder to dismiss once these very hands had lifted him up onto the hard surface. Enjolras was quick to bridge what felt like an abyss between them, rolling his hips to reach Grantaire's. The latter's lips drifted to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites behind them. They journeyed down to his collarbone, coming to a halt to nibble it playfully before carrying on their exploration. Enjolras leaned on his elbows, his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. His thoughts were as messy as his breathing as Grantaire ventured down his chest, taking a painstakingly long time to get acquainted with the exposed skin.

His britches had left him at some point, though he could not have told when. He had just found himself naked, wearing nothing but the branding of red-hot iron kisses on his skin. Grantaire had got on his knees and was toying with his hipbone, his teeth biting the lump one second and his tongue soothing the pinch the next. He quivered under the hands that were stroking his inner thighs, fingers drawing circles and letters he could not decipher, as though ignoring the glaringly obvious part of Enjolras that was yearning to be touched the most.

The tickling of Grantaire's tongue along his shaft left him shaking under the man's care. He was teasing him even now, the clever bastard. Enjolras groaned urgently and almost felt him smiling between his thighs. When the tongue trailed up and wrapped itself around the head of his cock, the groans turned into an ill-covered gasp of relief. His hands gripped the edges of the table. _Fuck_. This could not be happening, this could not be real. Some things were said to be to good to be true and this one was straight out of this world. Grantaire's warmth overwhelmed him as he swallowed him down, crushing him like a wave. An indecent moan escaped Enjolras's lips. He who was so eloquent found his vocabulary reduced to a single name. His hand went to lose itself among the messy dark curls, following the movements rather than guiding them. Never had he felt so adored, Grantaire revering him in every way he knew how. One of his hands had settled on his side, his thumb gently caressing his hipbone while the other was stroking the base of his cock. Each tease of his tongue called for another lewd moan, a prayer, a supplication to the worshipper.

Enjolras felt his grip on Grantaire's hair tighten and promptly removed his hand in fear to cause him harm. Surprised, the latter stopped his motions and quickly got up to his level.

"What is it? Is it something I did, I -"

His voice was incredibly soft and tainted with distress. Enjolras looked at the flames of his eyes, wide and burning with worry, almost innocent. His lips were still glistening, inviting him to possess them once more. It was as though Enjolras was seeing him for the first time. He was no longer just the guy he wanted to fuck, the cheeky Grantaire, Grantaire the drunkard, Grantaire the cynic. He was different and yet the same. He was raw, devoided of any pretences. He was a man he wanted to hold and cherish, ethereally beautiful in all his humanity.

Enjolras cupped Grantaire's cheeks in his hands, and pulled him into a kiss. It was none of those passionate, greedy kisses they had shared before, no. It was intimate, tender and warm, Enjolras's thumb gently stroking Grantaire's cheekbones, his lips mapping their sisters in great detail as though to remember them, always.

His fingers left the tender flesh to find that of his hips, slipping Grantaire's britches along his curves, freeing him at last from his last garments. There, Enjolras thought, equals. He wrapped his legs around him, closing the gap between them, a hum of pleasure escaping them both as their cocks brushed.

"I want you," he whispered to his ear before his lips slid to his neck, feeling Grantaire's throat vibrating in a breathless chuckle.

"Do you now?" he quipped, nuzzling his nose up against Enjolras's hair.

 Their noses brushed as the latter emerged from the crook of his neck.

"I want you," Enjolras repeated, mirroring the silly smile the other was sporting.

Grantaire stole another quick peck from him, his hands running up and down his thighs, before taking a step back. Enjolras frowned, the lack of warmth leaving him shivering. His gaze followed him to one of the sideboards. Opening one of the cupboards, Grantaire took half of its content out until he eventually found what he was looking for. The glass of a bottle flickered in the candlelight, catching his eye. Enjolras had spent enough time at the Musain to know what was inside. The cork sprung with a "pop", landing with the mess of pans and cutlery now scattered on the floor. Apprehension caught up with him once again. What was he supposed to do? Was there anything he was supposed to do in the first place? He felt like a fool. People kept saying it all came instinctively, that he would know what to do when the time came. But the time was here and he didn't have a clue.

Gather yourself, he thought. Rebelling against an unfair government, that he knew, it ran through his veins more than blood ever did. But love... love was a story he had never read before and whose intricacies had for long been lost on him. But Grantaire... Grantaire was a chapter he wanted to explore. He wanted to read between his lines and drink his words until they became part of himself.

The contact of the now familiar skin soothed him like a balm and he went to drown his worries against Grantaire's lips, settling his hands on the small of his back. Enjolras watched as he poured the oil over his hand, some droplets falling on his thigh, cold as ice against his heated skin. Slick fingers went to stroke his cock, reviving his erection while his own digits dug into Grantaire's back. The blush that had left his cheeks rekindled as the hand trailed between his legs. Grantaire drew Enjolras's hips to him for better exposure, his fingers finding their way to his entrance. The touch was so foreign that Enjolras couldn't help but to let out a small gasp. They circled around his flesh, patiently letting him get used to the sensation. When Grantaire judged it good, he slowly pressed a digit inside of him, careful to any of Enjolras's reaction. Though not painful, the only thing that came to mind was uncomfortable. Grantaire initiated small back and forths, easing the pressure one gentle thrust at a time. After a while, a second finger joined in, as tentatively as the first and Enjolras's breathing quickened. He felt it, he felt something. Grantaire slightly curled his fingers and Enjolras bit his lip to contain the moan blooming in his throat.

"It that alright?" Grantaire whispered to his ear.

"Y-Yes.." Enjolras panted in response, his hips arching by themselves.

At his words, the back and forths quickened their pace. Pleasure was coming in ripples, ever growing waves running through his body and flushing his skin. Enjolras reclined back on his elbows, unable to take the rhythm and the sensation any other way. He could feel his lover's gaze fixed on him, revelling at the sight. Little less than an hour ago, he would have been embarrassed to be caught moaning and squirming but he was long past that. If anything, it was leading him even further. A third finger came into play and he wondered how his chest had not exploded yet under the pressure of his beating heart.

"And this?" Grantaire asked, his voice more lascivious than concerned.

The sheer lust of his tone was enough to drive Enjolras to a frenzy. His hand reached for Grantaire's nape, pulling the latter into a messy, breathless embrace. He didn't even know how to find his lips anymore, his vision was blurred, white hot flashes flaring in his eyes. So he settled for any bit of skin he could find, his chin, his cheek, his neck, Grantaire, all of Grantaire. The fingers inside him curled some more, looking for what would make him tick and soon, Grantaire's name wasn't just echoing in his head but bouncing against the walls.

Gradually, the thrusts slowed down until they came to a full stop, giving Enjolras a chance to catch small, ragged breaths. His whole body felt as though is had been set ablaze. A thin layer of sweat was glistening on his chest, droplets rolling down to his navel. Grantaire withdrew his fingers and proceeded to oil his cock with what remained in the bottle. A slippery hand went to cup his hip to pull them closer, fingertips massaging the sweet flesh in a reassuring gesture. His shaft aligned with his entrance, its tip teasing the now sensitive ring. Grantaire's gaze sought Enjolras's, waiting for his approval. The latter nodded, bracing himself for what was to come.

The overwhelming pressure took his breath away. Ever so slowly, Grantaire kept pushing himself in, breaking in a soft sigh at the sentation. The oil had eased the movement, suppressing any form of resistance but even so, he didn't rush into it, keeping his thrust gentle for Enjolras's sake. He wanted more, the fingers digging into his hips were proof of that, but he kept his urges to himself. He paused once his length was fully inside him.

The first roll of hips felt strange and uncomfortable, making Enjolras flinch in spite of Grantaire's meek efforts. Grantaire bent down to him, laying a soft kiss just under his ear.

"Enjolras, talk to me," he whispered, giving another small thrust.

His voice was soothing enough to relax him and somewhere amidst these words, Enjolras could feel the moan his lover was holding back. He wanted to hear him, to know what he sounded like. There was no reason why he should be the only one singing.

"Please... Keep going.." he replied, assuming a lewd tone on purpose.

The answer was quick to follow. The grip on his hips tightened and the lustful whimper rolled up his throat, to Enjolras's utmost satisfaction. Another thrust sent a warm shiver up his spine, the pleasure taking him by surprise. He had been so busy alluring Grantaire that he had forgotten his own discomfort. He wrapped his legs around his lover's waist to follow his movements and soon, the lecherous sounds escaping his lips became genuine. He looked up, taking Grantaire's features in. The way his cheeks had reddened, the curve of his lips, the look of pure delight he had when his eyes were closed. He understood by his laboured breath how hard it was to keep his rhythm steady, one sweet push after another. And with pleasure building up within him, Enjolras knew just how he felt.

"Grantaire... More.."

The tamed pace wasn't enough anymore. He was craving him, his whole body screaming for more in a rapturous trance. With his eyes closed, the echo of Grantaire's raucous moans and his own were reverberating all around him, disorienting him completely but he was passed caring. One of his hands clasped the edge of the table as the back and forths quickened. _Fuck_. Enjolras felt tremors along his thighs and his arms, pleasure crushing him a bit more with each thrust. It was surreal. Otherwordly. And almost infuriating how he never seemed to have _enough_.

Grantaire bent his back a second time, resting his forehead on Enjolras's shoulder, thrusting even deeper inside him. Enjolras let out a cry of ecstasy, tilting his head back. Grantaire took this opportunity to suck on the offered neck, his hot breath tickling the skin below. Now that it had found a sweet spot, his cock kept hitting it, sending waves of bliss through Enjolras's body. Grantaire's hands were trembling, he could feel them. One of them wrapped itself around his cock and began to stroke him, keeping the pace of his movements with those of his hips. Overrun by pleasure, Enjolras came in a final cry, his hand buried in his lover's hair.

"Look at me.. Mon amour, look at me.." Grantaire pleaded in a whimper.

Still trembling under the weight of the orgasm, Enjolras forced himself to open his eyes and to hold Grantaire's gaze, watching him as he reached climax. The latter's head collapsed into the crook of his neck, utterly drained. The little energy left in Grantaire was used to wrap his arms around Enjolras's waist and to sit him up. Chest against chest, they both drew deep breaths without a word, revelling in the comfortable silence. Eventually, a small chuckle rose from the both of them, quickly followed by a blissful sigh. Grantaire nuzzled some more against the warm shoulder and Enjolras began to run his fingers along his back.

But a small shriek suddenly disturbed the peaceful quiet.

"Oh no... No, no, no, oh my god!"

Grantaire raised his head, worried.

"What, what is it, what's going on?" he frowned.

"The others... They've heard, haven't they?"

Grantaire, confused at first, broke into a warm chuckle.

"The king of England probably heard you too at this point!"

Enjolras buried his face in his hands, horrified.

"Oh god."

Gentle hands went to move his own, revealing his blushing cheeks. Grantaire removed a blond lock away from his face, placing it delicately behind his ear.

"You have such a beautiful voice, though. I'm sure they didn't mind."

**Author's Note:**

> Pfiou, that was quite a ride to put together but I think the result was worth it! I guess it's fitting that Enjolras's first is also my first smut, so we're terrified of the unknown together x)  
> Your feedback makes my day so don't hesitate to leave kudos or share your thoughts in the comments, I'd love to hear what you have to say!  
> You can also find me at [just-french-me-up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi and share some les mis goodness ;)


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